Bob Morrow’s Wizard of Oz moment

A few days after former mayor Bob Morrow passed away, I got a call from street musician Mike Leech, fiddler extraordinaire and keen community observer.

Leech wanted to share one of his favourite Morrow stories, something a lot of people have been doing since his sudden death on Feb. 4 at age 71.

Morrow died from kidney disease and a complicating lung infection. The first round of funeral visitations begins Thursday. Visiting hours are at Christ's Church Cathedral Sanctuary, at 252 James St. N., from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. and on Friday, Feb. 16, from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. to 8 p.m.

A memorial service is scheduled at the church for Saturday, Feb. 17 at 1 p.m.

No doubt many who pay their respects will be harbouring their own favourite yarn about Hamilton's longest serving and arguably most accessible mayor.

But Leech's story is particularly unique because it captures both Morrow's love of music and his grand sense of the office he inhabited for 18 years from 1982 to 2000.

There's also, Leech rightly notes, a whimsical Wizard of Oz quality to the story in which Morrow bestows an essentially empty but effective honour on a suppliant.

The incident involved former Hamilton street musician Jerry Moore, the classical guitarist who was a mentor to Leech and gave him the courage to eventually take up busking full-time.

Moore came to Hamilton from Toronto in 1997 and returned there in 2005. But during his time here he was a fixture beneath the landmark Birk's clock at King and James (now jousting inside Hamilton Farmers' Market).

The way Leech tells it, Moore used to sit there with his guitar and battery-powered three-watt amplifier plucking out soft classics such as "Greensleeves" and "Lord of the Dance."

But for whatever reason someone kept complaining about him and so the city's bylaw officers kept coming by with their ticket books, urging him to move on.

"At one point, they even checked the decibels he was putting out," Leech says.

All the hassling finally got to Moore, who according to Leech, didn't handle authority too well. "He got all riled up even more than I do"

So one day Moore packs up his little amp and guitar and storms over to city hall to see the mayor. He has no appointment but Morrow lets him in, sits him down and listens to his complaints.

"Here's what Bob does," says Leech. "He pulls out a sheet of paper, probably city stationary, and writes him a handwritten note that says if anyone bothers you from the city tell them you have the mayor's permission to play."

Moore kept that note with him for years, says Leech. "And if anyone gave him grief, he'd say, 'Well, I have the mayor's permission to be there.'"

Leech believes the episode says much about Morrow's love of music and affinity with artists. He was, after all, a skilled pianist, organist, and persistent promoter of the arts who was awarded a life membership in the American Liszt Society.

"In his heart, even more than a politician, that man was a musician and when he saw that musician in his office that day ..."

Leech also believes it speaks to Morrow's decency and concern for the little guy.

"Think about it. You're busy. Hamilton is going to s — t economically. And here's a guy shows up without an appointment with an angry look in his eye, holding a guitar in one hand and an amp in the other and wants to come into your office and talk to you.

"I mean, in this day and age, would you even allow someone who looks agitated into your office without an appointment?"

Leech thinks Morrow would have been justified in saying, "Who the hell are you; I've got a city to run."

Instead, Morrow listens, magisterially gives Moore a permit, and sends him happily on his way.

Did the letter really do anything?

"It doesn't matter. It was like the Wizard of Oz giving a heart to the Cowardly Lion."

Bob Morrow’s Wizard of Oz moment

He was city’s longest serving mayor but don’t forget he was also a musician, Andrew Dreschel writes.

A few days after former mayor Bob Morrow passed away, I got a call from street musician Mike Leech, fiddler extraordinaire and keen community observer.

Leech wanted to share one of his favourite Morrow stories, something a lot of people have been doing since his sudden death on Feb. 4 at age 71.

Morrow died from kidney disease and a complicating lung infection. The first round of funeral visitations begins Thursday. Visiting hours are at Christ's Church Cathedral Sanctuary, at 252 James St. N., from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. and on Friday, Feb. 16, from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. to 8 p.m.

A memorial service is scheduled at the church for Saturday, Feb. 17 at 1 p.m.

Related Content

No doubt many who pay their respects will be harbouring their own favourite yarn about Hamilton's longest serving and arguably most accessible mayor.

But Leech's story is particularly unique because it captures both Morrow's love of music and his grand sense of the office he inhabited for 18 years from 1982 to 2000.

There's also, Leech rightly notes, a whimsical Wizard of Oz quality to the story in which Morrow bestows an essentially empty but effective honour on a suppliant.

The incident involved former Hamilton street musician Jerry Moore, the classical guitarist who was a mentor to Leech and gave him the courage to eventually take up busking full-time.

Moore came to Hamilton from Toronto in 1997 and returned there in 2005. But during his time here he was a fixture beneath the landmark Birk's clock at King and James (now jousting inside Hamilton Farmers' Market).

The way Leech tells it, Moore used to sit there with his guitar and battery-powered three-watt amplifier plucking out soft classics such as "Greensleeves" and "Lord of the Dance."

But for whatever reason someone kept complaining about him and so the city's bylaw officers kept coming by with their ticket books, urging him to move on.

"At one point, they even checked the decibels he was putting out," Leech says.

All the hassling finally got to Moore, who according to Leech, didn't handle authority too well. "He got all riled up even more than I do"

So one day Moore packs up his little amp and guitar and storms over to city hall to see the mayor. He has no appointment but Morrow lets him in, sits him down and listens to his complaints.

"Here's what Bob does," says Leech. "He pulls out a sheet of paper, probably city stationary, and writes him a handwritten note that says if anyone bothers you from the city tell them you have the mayor's permission to play."

Moore kept that note with him for years, says Leech. "And if anyone gave him grief, he'd say, 'Well, I have the mayor's permission to be there.'"

Leech believes the episode says much about Morrow's love of music and affinity with artists. He was, after all, a skilled pianist, organist, and persistent promoter of the arts who was awarded a life membership in the American Liszt Society.

"In his heart, even more than a politician, that man was a musician and when he saw that musician in his office that day ..."

Leech also believes it speaks to Morrow's decency and concern for the little guy.

"Think about it. You're busy. Hamilton is going to s — t economically. And here's a guy shows up without an appointment with an angry look in his eye, holding a guitar in one hand and an amp in the other and wants to come into your office and talk to you.

"I mean, in this day and age, would you even allow someone who looks agitated into your office without an appointment?"

Leech thinks Morrow would have been justified in saying, "Who the hell are you; I've got a city to run."

Instead, Morrow listens, magisterially gives Moore a permit, and sends him happily on his way.

Did the letter really do anything?

"It doesn't matter. It was like the Wizard of Oz giving a heart to the Cowardly Lion."

Top Stories

Bob Morrow’s Wizard of Oz moment

He was city’s longest serving mayor but don’t forget he was also a musician, Andrew Dreschel writes.

A few days after former mayor Bob Morrow passed away, I got a call from street musician Mike Leech, fiddler extraordinaire and keen community observer.

Leech wanted to share one of his favourite Morrow stories, something a lot of people have been doing since his sudden death on Feb. 4 at age 71.

Morrow died from kidney disease and a complicating lung infection. The first round of funeral visitations begins Thursday. Visiting hours are at Christ's Church Cathedral Sanctuary, at 252 James St. N., from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. and on Friday, Feb. 16, from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. to 8 p.m.

A memorial service is scheduled at the church for Saturday, Feb. 17 at 1 p.m.

Related Content

No doubt many who pay their respects will be harbouring their own favourite yarn about Hamilton's longest serving and arguably most accessible mayor.

But Leech's story is particularly unique because it captures both Morrow's love of music and his grand sense of the office he inhabited for 18 years from 1982 to 2000.

There's also, Leech rightly notes, a whimsical Wizard of Oz quality to the story in which Morrow bestows an essentially empty but effective honour on a suppliant.

The incident involved former Hamilton street musician Jerry Moore, the classical guitarist who was a mentor to Leech and gave him the courage to eventually take up busking full-time.

Moore came to Hamilton from Toronto in 1997 and returned there in 2005. But during his time here he was a fixture beneath the landmark Birk's clock at King and James (now jousting inside Hamilton Farmers' Market).

The way Leech tells it, Moore used to sit there with his guitar and battery-powered three-watt amplifier plucking out soft classics such as "Greensleeves" and "Lord of the Dance."

But for whatever reason someone kept complaining about him and so the city's bylaw officers kept coming by with their ticket books, urging him to move on.

"At one point, they even checked the decibels he was putting out," Leech says.

All the hassling finally got to Moore, who according to Leech, didn't handle authority too well. "He got all riled up even more than I do"

So one day Moore packs up his little amp and guitar and storms over to city hall to see the mayor. He has no appointment but Morrow lets him in, sits him down and listens to his complaints.

"Here's what Bob does," says Leech. "He pulls out a sheet of paper, probably city stationary, and writes him a handwritten note that says if anyone bothers you from the city tell them you have the mayor's permission to play."

Moore kept that note with him for years, says Leech. "And if anyone gave him grief, he'd say, 'Well, I have the mayor's permission to be there.'"

Leech believes the episode says much about Morrow's love of music and affinity with artists. He was, after all, a skilled pianist, organist, and persistent promoter of the arts who was awarded a life membership in the American Liszt Society.

"In his heart, even more than a politician, that man was a musician and when he saw that musician in his office that day ..."

Leech also believes it speaks to Morrow's decency and concern for the little guy.

"Think about it. You're busy. Hamilton is going to s — t economically. And here's a guy shows up without an appointment with an angry look in his eye, holding a guitar in one hand and an amp in the other and wants to come into your office and talk to you.

"I mean, in this day and age, would you even allow someone who looks agitated into your office without an appointment?"

Leech thinks Morrow would have been justified in saying, "Who the hell are you; I've got a city to run."

Instead, Morrow listens, magisterially gives Moore a permit, and sends him happily on his way.

Did the letter really do anything?

"It doesn't matter. It was like the Wizard of Oz giving a heart to the Cowardly Lion."